


Bathroom Thoughts

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 06:24:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4614594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone gets anxious. Sigurd Thomassen, the personification of the country of Norway, and hundreds of years old, is just like everybody else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathroom Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfiction for my girlfriend, but I wrote it with anyone who suffers from anxiety in mind. If you have anxiety, or anything else, remember that you're loved, and important! This fic is for you!

Sigurd pinched the bridge of his nose and stared into the mirror, trying to steady his breathing and get his feelings under control.

This always happened when he had to present at the meetings. It was difficult for him to speak, at the best of times, in front of anyone who wasn't constantly visiting his home. (That cut out Mikkel, of course, and Erikur, and he knew Tino and Berwald so well it didn't matter.) But speaking at a meeting, with everyone looking at him and judging him and his English? The very thought made his head spin and his stomach cramp. He sank down onto the floor, hands moving from his nose to his hair. He pulled out his hairclip, pushing it through the gaps in his fingers, and pressing the cool metal to his lips. The others had probably noticed his absence and were laughing at him, but he had to do this. He had to take the time alone or he'd end up losing the ability to speak entirely in front of everyone.

The door to the bathroom creaked open and Sigurd staggered to his feet, dropping the clip and trying to look like he hadn't been sitting on the floor ready to cry.

"Sigurd! There ya are!" It was Mikkel in all his meeting glory, wearing a black suit and a red tie to offset it. It was one he'd got him for his birthday, Sigurd realised dimly, and the fact helped him breathe a little easier. Mikkel wasn't laughing at him. "What's up? You vanished. We're on break now, but y'didn't come back from coffee, so I got worried." The Dane's gaze flicked to the ground, before Sigurd could respond, and his mouth parted a little at the sight of the clip on the tiles. "Hold on."

"No, you-" Sigurd's first words in about two hours were cut off Mikkel, who had plucked the clip from the floor and pushed his bangs back with it after rubbing it on his shirt.

"It's cool, Sigurd. It's only a little bending over, nothin' I'm not familiar with." The wink pulled a laugh from the Norwegian's throat and he nodded, leaning back against the wall.

"I suppose not. Y'can go, by the way. I'm fine." He preferred to be alone when he was like this. However, Mikkel never made it that easy and instead the Dane flung an arm around his shoulders. He smelled like gingerbread and Sigurd wondered if he'd made cookies for the afternoon tea they always had afterwards.

"They say deep breathing helps." The words were casual, airy, and Sigurd narrowed his eyes as he glanced up at Mikkel.

"I didn't ask." Unfazed, Mikkel pressed a soft kiss to Sigurd's forehead and tightened his arm around him.

"S'pose not. What does help?"

"Nothing." Sigurd surprised himself with how bitterly he spat the words out and, blinking a bit, he took a breath. He needed to relax. However, Mikkel didn't say anything in response; just looking expectantly at him. It was a silence that needed filling and the Norwegian, much to his own frustration, couldn't help but oblige. "It's- just, I feel so stupid in front all of them. I'm not Alfred. English isn't m'first language and when I'm standin' up there and they're all waitin' for me t'talk about whatever, I forget that they're m'friends. I just- I know it's foolish. I stand there and think, 'they're not going to laugh', but then there's a part of me that's tellin' me they will, and I just… I don't want to do this." Wiping at his eyes, which always welled up when he got really upset, Sigurd directed his gaze at the floor.

"Then ya don't have to." Sigurd froze, and he raised his gaze up to eye Mikkel.

"What d'you mean? Of course I do."

"Not today. I read your segment while you were in here. Today, I'm presenting both Denmark and Norway's report, because of your awful sore throat." Mikkel's face had a big grin on it and Sigurd felt his chest loosen as he stared up at him.

"… Really?"

"Yes." Mikkel turned to hug Sigurd to his chest, and he couldn't help burying his face in the safety of Mikkel's shirt, curling his fingers into the other's sides.

"… Thanks, Mikkel. 'm lucky t'have you."

"I know." Mikkel beamed pressing another kiss to Sigurd's hair. "It's okay, though. I'll always be here. And we can practice your presentation for next month!" The Dane took a step backwards and Sigurd reluctantly released his hold on Mikkel's shirt in favour of taking his hand. "Come on. We can't spend our whole break in here." Sigurd shrugged a bit as he was pulled out of the bathroom, adjusting his clip.

"We could." Laughing, Mikkel rolled his eyes at him and Sigurd felt a surge of affection towards him.

This wasn't quite the same as fighting a battle back to back, but it felt like it did when they won.


End file.
